


Sweet-Tooth

by frumious_bandersnatch



Series: Domestic WG (better series name to be thought of later) [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Cooking, Drug Use, Fat Sam Winchester, Food Porn, M/M, Multi, Stuffing, Weight Gain, feederism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28411776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frumious_bandersnatch/pseuds/frumious_bandersnatch
Summary: More horny key smashing, of course. No meeting between the boys yet, just wanted to give an idea of what it’s been like for Sam.
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Lucifer/Gabriel
Series: Domestic WG (better series name to be thought of later) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080914
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Sweet-Tooth

It was Gabriel’s fault. Most things were, really. But this thing, this one (big) thing, was Gabriel’s fault. 

He had stashes. All through the house; kit-kats in the kitchen cabinet behind the flour, mixed bag of m&m’s in a trick book on the shelf, mars bars and three musketeers’ in a box taped to the underside of the table. And the least hidden, a bowl of jolly ranchers on the counter, next to the blender. 

Why it was all hidden Sam couldn’t fathom. It wasn’t like they ever ran out- every piece taken out was replaced in an instant. Maybe that was the problem- maybe he hid it so he wasn’t just snacking constantly. And it wasn’t like Sam could bitch at him for leaving it out. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’, was the general thought process the younger Winchester had when it came to sweets. Because no matter how much he lauded his diet, the salads and lean meats and avocado, he’d always had a sweet tooth. 

So, if one or two days out of a month, he’d untape the box, or take a bowl, or a bag, up to his room, and had a binge so large he couldn’t get up after, surrounded by wrappers, fingers smeared with chocolate or sticky with sugar, he could always work it off. Made up for it with everything else. 

Re-hide the candy, throw the evidence in the bin out back, get on with his life and his regretful, aching, stomach. 

So that, at the very least, was Gabriel’s fault. Not Sam’s own agency at all, no, it was just too tempting. Little fucker should have just hidden his infinite stashes better. 

It was even more Gabriel’s fault when he caught onto it. When he realized that when the salad dressing (homemade, always, healthy, always) was a little sweeter Sam would have extra helpings of the salad he’d made, when the glaze on the duck (only at Christmas, so fatty, but Christmas was an exception) was a sweet orange rather than something savory that he and Lucifer would have hardly any- well, Lucifer rarely ate anyways, more like  _ he  _ would have barely any, how the Christmas cookies and Easter candy was practically inhaled each time it was brought out, each ‘once a year’ turned into a few extra pounds around Sam’s middle that he diligently worked off...he might have leaned into it. Just a little. So it was,

“Hey, Sammy. Think I’m gonna start an online bakery. Y’know, ship stuff out. Earn the fake money I’m using, huh?”

And then Sam was his official taste-tester. And he made, maybe, just a little too much. Recipes that weren’t fit to ship, anyhow,

“Gabriel, I don’t see how a chocolate soufflé will hold up in the US postal service,”

“Oh, well, don’t want it going to waste,”

And,

“I’m not going to even  _ ask  _ how you’re planning on sending out creme brulee. What the hell, dude.”

“I thought it would work.”

“Of course you did.” And Sam would let out a put upon sigh, like he really didn’t want it, then, always, “Bring it here.”

And then dinners and lunches and breakfasts changed. That was also Lucifer’s fault, because he’d caught on to just what his little brother was doing, and he loved it.

Loved seeing his other half full, happy, content,  _ stuffed.  _

“Dude, that smoothie is sad.  _ Kale _ ?  _ Kale _ , Sam? I don’t think Dad meant for you guys to eat that stuff.” Lucifer would wrinkle his nose, nudge the bunch of leaves out of Sam’s hand. “Just do the mango, some yoghurt- vanilla yoghurt, the ice, hm, pineapple? Treat yourself. Oh- don’t forget milk. Is that all you need?”

And then Sam stopped putting kale in his smoothies. Stopped with the half hearted decision to put spinach in, too, after Gabriel’s whining about it. Moved to eating full breakfasts (egg whites and spinach sautéed with mushrooms and olive oil, Canadian bacon and sprouted bread toast, and then on to scrambled eggs with cheese, and bacon- the nice, saturated, artery clogging kind, and whole wheat toast, mushrooms and shallots dripping with butter and flavor). Dinners went from salads, grilled chicken, or omelettes, to more of the fare he used to eat while on the road- just scaled up a bit. Gabriel was an excellent cook, and Lucifer...well, he had taste. Not good taste, but taste nonetheless.

“It’s not the same.” Lucifer muttered, poking disinterestedly at the home-baked sesame bun. “It needs pickle.”

“Luci,” Gabriel said, exasperated, as he’d put his own burger down. “You always take the pickles off of yours, you hate them. Why-“

“It needs the memory of pickle. Pickle juice? I like it...with pickles removed, not without pickles entirely. Hm, you can do that, can’t you, little brother?”

And Gabriel had slowly turned to face Sam, who was muffling his laughter with the back of his hand, and,

“You see what I’ve had to deal with for centuries, Sambo? I can’t keep living like this.” Gabriel moaned as he retrieved the mason jar of sliced pickles from the fridge and set it in front of his brother. “Pickle and depickle away, bro, I’m not doing it for you and then having you complain. Eat your damn fries, Sam, stop laughing.” He chuckled. 

Sam had stopped jogging in the mornings a while back. Because Lucifer would always get up with him, and complain about it the whole way, and it really was just better to stay in bed and cuddle. 

And with lifestyle changes, of course, came bodily changes, too. Mood changes. He was happier, for one, a little rosier (and rounder) in the cheeks. Not all sharp angles.

“I’ve gained twenty pounds since last year.” Sam muttered, staring down at the scale and pinching his slight belly.

“And? Still perfectly healthy. Just, hn, twenty more pounds to love.” Gabriel hummed from behind Sam, scale ticking up as he wrapped his arms around the hunter and stepped forwards. 

“I should start working out again.”

“Why bother? You’re not hunting anymore, you’re still strong enough to pound my sweet little ass into the mattress like nobody’s business. We’re good.”

Sam had almost wished it had taken more to convince him. 

“...Gabriel’s gonna make muffins, you know.” Lucifer hummed idly, eyes trained on the plate of brownies Sam was working through.

Twenty pounds was an understatement at this point, and Sam was definitely lying to himself, because he had a second chin and his belly would hang out over his belt, he had love handles and jelly rolls and he either didn’t see it, didn’t care, or just didn’t want to acknowledge it. Lucifer suspected it was a bit of all three. 

Sam hiccuped, held the back of his hand over his mouth and groaned. He’d already had too much, his stomach was bloated, aching, he probably should undo his belt at some point. “Uhuh. I know.”

“And you’re gonna finish those along with the brownies?”

“....” Sam sighed, brow creased with something dejected for a moment. “...Yeah, yeah, I am.”

“Good.” Lucifer smiled, beamed, even, and gave the plate a little nudge. “I’ll have him make some ice cream, too, buddy.”

Not scorn. Not disgust. Sam was confused, relieved.

And he kept gaining weight.

“I know what you two are doing.”

“Mm. And what’s that, Samshine?” Gabriel arched a brow, taking the lollipop out of his mouth and humming.

“You keep...feeding me. Is this a fetish? What’s-“

“You keep eating, more like.” Lucifer chuckled from where he was perched on the arm of the couch. “Sure. I’ll bite. Two big bad archangels, like to see their mate-“ He frowned as he got a warning look from Gabriel, “Their boyfriend happy and fed. Problem? You like eating, Gabe likes cooking, I like giving you belly rubs when you have a little too much. It works.”

“No, no, it doesn’t. It’s not healthy. What would Dean think if he saw me like- like this?”

Lucifer simply raised a brow and held a hand up to silence his brother, even as they shared a knowing look. He wanted Sam to go on.

“I’m almost three hundred fucking pounds, Lucifer, there’s something wrong with me.”

Lucifer drew his lower lip between his teeth, head cocked to the side. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Sammy.” Voice soft, a purr, honeyed and sweet and so fucking tempting. “I think you’re beautiful. Six-foot-four, two hundred and eighty-seven pounds, I think you’re perfect. Mine.” He stood, walked over, eyes full red for a moment. “So much to love, so much to hold in my grace, so much to wrap my wings around. The things you do to me, Sam. My vessel. My perfect,  _ succulent _ , other half. I don’t want to hear that. Don’t want to hear self loathing from you, baby, when this…” He trailed his hands down the swell of Sam’s chest, down to rest on his gut, “Is a labor of love from me and Gabriel. When taking care of you, hand fucking feeding you, Sam, makes me hard as a rock in my pants. It’s not just sexy. Lights a fire in my heart, baby,” His voice a whisper as he kissed at Sam’s neck. “There’s baklava in the oven. We’re going to share it while we watch a stupid rom-com tonight, mkay? And tomorrow, we’ll talk more. We’ll work through it. Now give me your word, Sam, tell me what I like to hear…”

Sam’s lower lip quivered, his eyes were blown wide, he reached up and gripped lightly at Lucifer’s arm. “ _ Yes.” _

That was a little under two hundred pounds ago. And of course, in the interim, there was,

“I didn’t know you rolled your own, Gabe,” Lucifer frowned.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Sam scoffed.

Gabriel chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Not tobacco, Sammy.” He hummed, wetting his lips. “On a completely related note, guess how much you weigh today?”

Sam stared at Gabriel blankly for a few seconds, before he let out a long sigh through his nose and fell into bitch face #45. 

“I don’t understand.” Lucifer murmured, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially with his brother. “Why-“ He racked his brain, found a distant memory of Nick’s college days, and his expression twisted into a flat mirror of Sam’s. “Really?”

Gabriel raised the now lit blunt to his lips and hummed, self satisfied smile stretching his lips. “Let me have my moment. I’ve been planning this for a while. Happy four-twenty, baby.”

“It’s September. And six ‘o clock.”

“Shuddup, let me smoke.”

And,

Sam moaned, panting heavily. He tried-  _ tried,  _ to spread his legs a little wider, but it was an exercise in ineffectuality because it wasn’t like he could support himself on his hands and knees anymore, belly bearing the brunt of his weight in an uncomfortable yet pleasant way, jiggling with each snap of Lucifer’s hips.

Every inch of him jiggling. From his plush thighs to his overstuffed stomach to his tits to his chins to his cheeks, all shaking, shockwaves through his whole body.

“Fuck, Sam. Sometimes I think this is the best,” Lucifer grunted, “Best way to be inside you.” And then he was chuckling breathlessly, sparks of grace buzzing against the man’s nipples and ripping a keen from his parted lips.

Gabriel moaning from where he sat just to the side, slowly jacking off, wings out in the open and spread and scenting the room in honey and roasted pistachios and other lovely sweet things. “Fuck, Lu, I need him, need him bad,”

“Then fuck his throat. Would you like that, Sammy?”

“Nah. Nah, want him to eat me out.” Gabriel breathed as he arched his back and moaned, hand sliding faster over his cock. 

And  _ fuck _ , could Sam eat him out. Meaty hands braced against his thighs, tongue buried in his ass, occasionally aided by a finger questing for his prostate. 

Not as good as Lucifer, but that dickhead had a forked tongue, so there was no completion. Gabriel still loved it. 

And they had plenty of time in the world, so Gabriel ended up getting both, lucky duck. And he even repaid Sam the favor, tongue and grace and hands and all while Lucifer played with his wings, and when they were a pile of tangled limbs and Sam panting, huffing, heaving, groaning out his contentment and tiredness, Lucifer hummed.

“Crowley called, by the way.” He yawned. “Wants to meet up? Think we could go and see Dean?”

Gabriel blinked. “When did he call?”

“Last week. I forgot. Sorry.”

Sam grunted. “You forgot? I don’t…” He shifted, all of a sudden, face flushed with more than exertion.

“Relax, Sam-a-lam. Betcha Dean’s more of a fatass than you.” Gabriel snorted. 

“Don’t say that,” Sam mumbled through a yawn.

“It’s definitely true. But I guess we’ll have to wait and see.” Lucifer kissed Sam’s cheek. “We’ll figure it out, set up a date. Tomorrow, though, we’re working on enochian?” He liked keeping Sam entertained, stimulated, and magic and enochian were two good ways to keep his mind going while keeping his butt firmly planted on the couch. Where it belonged. 

“Mm. Sleeping in, though.”

“Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy this one as much as the first!


End file.
